Advice
by Tahyldras
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is some advice from a stranger.


**Advice**

Cresting the hill, Merlin, little older than a boy, looks upon the magnificent and imposing citadel of Camelot. He pauses for a moment, thinking about his foreseeable future; a future where the slightest mistake could spell his death. Taking a deep breath, he starts to descend the hill when a gravelly voice grabs his attention.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Turning around, Merlin sees the speaker. A red-robed man with white hair and beard reaching down to his midriff. Leaning on a staff that was as old and gnarled as he was, he waited for Merlin to answer his rhetorical question.

"Yes." Merlin finally answered, somewhat troubled by the way the old man's piercingly intelligent eyes seemed to bore into his soul. "It is. Although looks can be deceiving." At this, the stranger let out a short bark of laughter and drew level with Merlin, using his staff for support all the way.

"Oh, most definitely. Especially in Camelot, where the most beautiful can be the most dangerous." He speaks in a wistful tone, gazing out at the city laid out before them. There is silence for a few heartbeats, before Merlin finally asks;

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm not of importance. I'm just an old man gazing at the city he loves and protects."

"Protects? How?" Instead of answering, the old man just looks Merlin in the eyes and allows a glimmer of gold to flash over his irises. Taken aback by the blatant act of magic this close to Camelot, Merlin stammers out;

"Why? And the King allows this?" Another barking laugh.

"Uther? Gods, no. If he found out, he would have me on the pyre faster than you could say 'Ooh, look! A sorcerer!' Why? Well, there _is_ something worth fighting for in that city." He answers, gesturing his head to the castle rising in the distance, but doesn't elaborate. Somewhat confused by the man's use of the past tense, Merlin opens his mouth to ask another question when he is cut across by the old sorcerer.

"Now then, my boy. I have kept you long enough! You should carry on to the city. Perhaps your destiny awaits there!" Putting a wrinkled hand on Merlin's shoulder, he gently pushes the boy towards Camelot. Thoroughly bewildered by the short conversation, Merlin starts to march down the hill despite the multitude of questions running through his mind. Hearing the old man call out to him, Merlin turns back to face him and brings up one hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Oh, a bit of advice!" He pauses to make sure that Merlin is listening. "Sometimes you must follow your heart over the voices of others around you." Nodding, Merlin waves his thanks and continues his journey. Several times, the young Warlock looks back to the old sorcerer to see him leaning on his staff and gazing out at Camelot.

-o-

Smiling to himself, Merlin watches his younger self trek towards the rest of his life, finally.

Feeling his magic burning away with every moment he stood there, Merlin waited until the black-haired youth was out of sight. With a flash of pain, he let go of the thin thread of magic that tethered him here, happy in the knowledge that he not only thoroughly confused himself, but also likely changed things for the better.

He faded from the world, taking with him the only memories of traumas and tragedies yet to occur.

-o-

Merlin stood in Gaius' chambers, face to face with the Lady Morgana, desperately trying to think of what to say to her fearful confession. Eyes falling on the wooden table beside him, the swirls and knots in the woodgrain remind him of an encounter with a strange, old man with a gnarled wooden staff years before, and he comes to a decision. Taking a deep breath, the words come easily.

"Yes, Morgana. It _is_ magic. But magic is nothing to be afraid of." Merlin extends his hand and there, fluttering away in his palm, was a small golden flame.

-o-

Standing atop the hill where he first saw the great city of Camelot, an old and white-haired Merlin basks in nostalgia. Long since realising the truth of the mysterious encounter on this very spot many years before, he started to frequent the hill, hoping to meet himself again. Many times over the years he wondered just what horrors forced him to burn his magic, and himself, away to try and change what had happened, and he hoped that it turned out the way the other him had hoped.

A twig snaps behind him, and Merlin turns to see an equally old and white-haired Morgana pacing up the hill. Smiling, he extends an arm, and wraps it around her waist as she reached the peak. Together, they look out at the prosperous city, and can't help but compare it to the much-smaller city of their youth. Many decades of King Arthur's rule lead the kingdom from strength to strength, leading to the city below them becoming the capital of a single great Kingdom of not only Albion, but all of the Isle of Britannia.

Turning from their memories, the old sorcerers greet their grown daughter, Elaine, and continue on their final journey to the Lake of Avalon to put the great King to rest, before finally resting themselves.


End file.
